Hands on a Miracle
Time does not tickle it slides past and vanish in a flash for me. It does not blink or yawn or take the time to stroll gracefully across the bright green lawn and feel the lush, soft grass pushing up against the soles of her feet. She races across the lawn, stomping madly, emotionaless like a paniced dead slate. Her ways known to no entity. I sat on the lawns in front of the parliament house after a day of hussle bustle and frantic movement. Resting my head on my squishy canvas Marc Jacobs, I stare up ahead at the bright blue angelic sky, a sea of perfect blue. Clouds swimming like kois in a Japanese pond. The band carried on for no one, singing to the wide open greens. Lovers lay side by side, feet sprawled in front of them, some one cuddles, swaying to the music. A huge Tibetan Mastiff, or what looks like a Tibetan Mastiff, was playing with toddler half his size. It was a delightful sight, that beautiful afternoon. I listened to the band play and watched the passing crowd, no animosi...